


Clockwork Angels. part 4

by BeBunny



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, M/M, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-23
Updated: 2010-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-07 11:59:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeBunny/pseuds/BeBunny





	Clockwork Angels. part 4

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [clock'verse](http://bebunny.livejournal.com/tag/clock%27verse)  
---|---  
  
_ **Clockwork Angels. part 4** _

 

~~*~~

Kingston's landing docks were in something of disrepair, much like the rest of the city. Frank stepped over a small pile of rubble in an effort to catch up to Ray, who had marched off in a huff after being reassigned a dock three times before someone finally figured out a space for them.

Mikey looked a little lost, Frank kept him close, tugging at his wrist so they didn't lose each other. When they emerged on to the great rail bridge over the central district that had once made Kingston famous, they could see why it had gained a reputation of disrepute.

Music was playing loudly from the theatres that dotted the high streets, ladies with high riding skirts and painted lips lounged against walls and laughed shrilly at the men, who competed for their attention and each other's. Smoke and steam was everywhere, industry no longer separated from leisure. The great clock tower above the central square tolled loudly, proclaiming the afternoon had arrived.

They made their way roughly through throngs of people towards the palace perched above the city, Mikey stopping every so often to listen to snatches of music floating up from the streets, eyes wide.

The palace guards simply waved them through, Ray's confident presence familiar enough to cause little alarm, but they only got as far as the internal foyer before a sharp voice stopped them.

“What are you planning to get him involved in this time Toro?”

“Patrick!” Brendon chimed, “It's only us, what possible harm..?”

“Smuggling, Urie! Smuggling, kidnapping and then arson! That's what!”

Brendon smirked, “Frankly the arson was his idea, and the kidnapping hardly counts when she was a stowaway to start with!” He waved his hand dismissively.

Ray climbed the steps to where Patrick was standing, laying a hand on his shoulder, rubbing the deeply starched collar with his thumb. “We just want to know if he has any idea who is behind a kidnapping plot _we're_ the victims of”. He said evenly.

Patrick's eyes flicked over the visitors, eyebrow raising when he noted Frank's presence.

“Who's been kidnapped Ray?” he hissed.

“This young man's brother,” Ray replied, gesturing towards Mikey. “Gerard Way.”

Patrick shot them all a venomous look, deeply suspicious. “I wont let you make him start a war!” He cried, “He worked too hard!”

Brendon laughed. “Oh come on Patrick, Pete's never done a hard day's work in his life!”

Ray squeezed Patrick's shoulder again. “No war,” He said softly. “We just want to find him.”

Mikey cleared his throat. “I know that you don't have any reason to believe I am telling the truth, no proof that he is actually my brother, but Mister...”

“Stump”

“Mr Stump, my brother doesn't do so well on his own, I'm deathly worried about him. Haven't you ever worried about someone so much you'd chase pirates halfway across the country?”

Patrick paused, considering. He bowed stiffly and gestured towards the great oak doors. “If he'll see you then go ahead” He said, tone a little defeated.

Ray bent his head in thanks, and ushered the party towards the door, Patrick close on his heels.

~~*~~

_The hard faced Captain of the City Watch stood scratching his stubble. His foot tapping impatiently as the lanky youth cowering in front of him bled profusely from his nose. Behind him the scarlet ink soaked into the bricks of the abandoned alchemists guild. _

“_And all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me  
For all the ghosts that are never gonna...”_

_The kid sniffed, and reached for the dripping paintbrush. The Captain shook his head, cautioning him not to continue. He received a wad of spit on his boot for the warning. _

_The captain turned away, nodding at his lieutenant to carry on. The screams followed his footsteps down the cobbled street. _

~~*~~

Palatine Wentz was holding court.

As far as Frank could see, this involved a very bored group of flamboyantly dressed officials watching Pete pass laws that may, or may not, last until the end of the day.

He was lounging on a great oak chair, when the group approached, the boredom evident on his face. He was less exuberant than the last time Frank had seen him, looking a little frayed around the edges. He perked up a little when he noticed their presence. Rising to his feet he dismissed the three citizens from the floor.

Frank shifted his weight back to allow Brendon to stage whisper to Mikey:  
"He keeps court here, insane, but kinda edgy, he once sentenced a guy to 6 months as a dog for forgetting to feed Hemingway."  
The bulldog in question was slumped at Pete's feet, gnawing on a bone.  
Frank swatted at Brendon, warning silence, Pete was not more than a few feet from them, and they couldn't afford to irritate him.   
The Palatine stopped to grin at Mikey, who's eyes hadn't left the leather collar and lead dangling suggestively from the back of the chair at the head of the table. Frank frowned and watched Patrick hover nervously at the back of the room, fussing at his uniform. _“Do you know something we don't?”_ He thought.   
"You'd make a pretty puppy..." Pete was saying, Frank's attention snapped back to the present, into a rush of adrenaline. He felt like his brain would freeze over, it was everything he could do to keep from striking out at the Palatine. Mikey was leaning backwards, trying to surreptitiously crawl out from under the Pete's scrutiny.

“That's enough!” Ray said, firmly, but not loudly. “We're here to ask if you know where the Poet Gerard Way might have been taken.”

Pete's gaze slid easily onto to the captain, grinning lopsidedly he assessed his old friend and sometimes-adversary.

“New blood is always welcome” He gushed, waving for a footman to bring refreshments.

“You're avoiding the question I notice.” Bob added.

Frank watched uneasily as they performed their verbal dance, each side unwilling to give too much away, no accusations, no concessions. Pete was holding his cards close to his chest. It was the glance he and Brendon shared however, that had Frank most worried. Mikey edged closer to him, their fingers twining together, Frank trying to provide a stable sense of security. He felt like he was lying.

Pete's eyes left Brendon's, and he clucked his tongue briefly, pacing back and forth in front of the company, making a show of considering his next move.

“You know...” He swung on his heel, “I am holding a Masquerade this evening.” He peered at Ray, “You may just find some answers.”

Ray nodded smartly and bowed to Pete, adding a second nod for Patrick. “This evening then.” He said.

They had reached the door to the audience room before Pete called out once more. “Good to see you again Frankie!” His tone was playful. It made the hair on the back of Frank's stand on end.

~~*~~

“_I can't do it Brian!” Gerard keened, he slid down flat against the wall, drawing his knees up to his chin._

_Brian was at his side in an instant, smoothing his hair against his forehead, nodding. _

“_I know,” he soothed, “I know, I told him, told him you wouldn't write, that you didn't want to.” He dropped his eyes miserably. “He doesn't believe me, he laughed, says you'll come around.”_

_Gerard picked at the seam on his waistcoat. “I don't want any part of this war.” He said, “even if it is just words.”_

_Brian rested his cheek against Gerard's shoulder. _

“_I'll arrange a way to get you out.” He croaked, “that is what I do after all.”_

~~*~~

In short, Frank felt stupid. In lengthier terms he felt utterly ludicrous. Brendon had fussed over him for two hours, stitching black sequins, buttons and ribbon into his old suit, which had also been dyed black. He felt like he'd had an accident in a haberdashers.

Ray had said he looked quite fetching, which was, he supposed, the first compliment he'd received from the captain in over five years. He stared sulkily at the little make-up box that contained the last piece of his identity with the pirates, his identity as an outlaw and bandit.

His thoughts were interrupted by Mikey sliding around the door to the cabin, looking a little abashed. Frank allowed himself a gasp, the man was transformed. Ray had lent him a grey tapered greatcoat with big silver buttons and Brendon had stitched silver thread into the collar in intricate swirling patterns. Bob had beaten a mask for him from the soft copper panelling spare from the engine rooms and etched a matching pattern into it with sulphuric acid. He had swapped his grey suit pants for the tight black denim kind favoured by Brendon and in Franks opinion they suited Mikey much better.

Mikey bobbed a little bow, visibly uncomfortable. “What do you think?” He asked, voice small, uncertain. Frank's grin was infectious, and he laughed heartily, making Mikey give him a little twirl. He chuckled and struck a heroic pose. They danced sloppily together for a few moments, mocking the formality they would need to adopt at the Masquerade. When Frank donned his old bandit mask, grinning like a lunatic Mikey collapsed in a giggling heap on the bed.

“You look like the Dread Pirate Robinson!” He hooted.

“As you wish,” Frank mocked, trying to emulate the world's most inept pirate, as portrayed in the trashy penny flysheet fiction sold on Helvetica's streets. He slumped down next to Mikey, still giggling.

~~*~~

“Welcome! All Angels and Kings!” Pete proclaimed, “Come one, come all to the greatest show on earth!”

The press of bodies was suffocating, Frank pushed his way through wave after wave of pretenders and hangers-on of the kind that flocked to Wentz like moths to a flame. Pete had told him once that it was just because he knew how to shine, he'd looked incredibly sad after that.

Dancers filled the elaborate ballroom and pulsed in response to the complex rhythm of the band, he'd left Mikey watching them, since he'd never heard the kind of music they played in Kingston, the kind that you felt deep in your chest and spread out through your veins like fire. Frank hadn't realised how much he'd been missing it, holed up in Helvetica, where music of any kind was almost illegal.

They had split up, Pete had not been terribly transparent about what answers they may find here, who might give them, or even really the questions they could ask. _“Where the hell is Gerard Way?”_ was a good start, Frank thought. Ray had worried they weren't being subtle enough, but Bob had pointed out that the only time they'd ever managed subtle was that one time where Ray had to dress as a girl and flirt with the bouncer to get them into William Beckett's club in order to steal back the gold press they owed Vicky. Ray hadn't said much more after that, he was stalking the edges of the dance floor, drawing admiring gazes from the crowd, giving the rest of them cover to move more stealthily.

Frank could see Bob was cornered by a woman who looked three times his age, Brendon was nearby, finding the whole situation hilarious. It seemed whatever it was they were supposed to do here was going to be up to Frank.

Making his way to the marble stairs to get a better look at the crowd he was suddenly confronted with a figure who refused to move out of his way. Wearing an ornate wooden mask with more feathers than any bird had actually worn the man gestured to Frank to follow him to the dark shadows behind the staircase.

“You're looking for the Poet Way?” he whispered, louder than Frank would have liked.

“The revolutionist?” Frank hissed back, trying to lace his voice with disbelief. “Why on earth would I have anything to do with a revolution?”

“You _are_ Frank Iero...” The man drawled, sounding amused at some secret irony.

“This is supposed to be a Masquerade!” Frank replied, now truly irritated.

The man chuckled, enjoying himself. “He's mine, you know!” He said, leaning on one hip, sweeping a drink off the tray of a nearby footman. “I found him, he's pretty too.”

Frank swallowed. _“If he's anything like his brother...”_ “You found him?” Frank asked, “was he lost?”

“We're all lost little bandit!” the man giggled, “he is especially so, although he doesn't know it.”

“What do you want from him?” Frank's gaze drifted to Mikey, watching the band play with rapt interest, arms wrapped around himself. He hoped someone would go to this much trouble if _he_ went missing.

“He's going to write for me, we need more anthems! More poems!” The man gestured grandly as he sketched his dreams in the air for his audience. It rang bells for Frank, lots of bells. He tried desperately to remember where he had seen this guy before. _“Keep him talking!”_ Inner Frank yelled at him.

“Has he written anything yet?” Frank asked conspiratorially. “For you, I mean.”

The man shrugged, “Not yet, but he _will_ come around.” He plucked at a velvet glove, “We have an important production coming up.” He ran his fingers through his hair, tossing it back.

The movement was the final piece of the puzzle for Frank. Images surfaced of half-remembered hustles played long ago with Bob and Vicky on the gentry. The patrons of the Cobra Theatre were all game, all under the agreement of its manager. “Gabe.” Frank said quietly, “just take us to see him.”

Gabe slumped against the wall behind him with a huff. “Aww,” he moaned. “You're no fun Frankie.”

~~*~~

Mikey's hand was curled once again in Frank's. “This is becoming a habit.” thought Frank, not entirely uncharitably. He stroked Mikey's thumb with his, and stared at the back of Ray's coat as they followed Gabe in silence through the wild streets of Kingston. He shrugged against Pansy's weight, feeling grateful for her presence.

It was getting dark, and Frank swallowed nervously, there was something not quite right about how this was unfolding, how easy it had been. If Gabe was simply going to lead them to Gerard, why go to the bother of kidnapping him in the first place? Frank supposed Ray's knife poking Gabe in the kidney was helping, but even with Brendon and Bob flanking them from behind he didn't imagine they cut a very threatening picture. _“Except by reputation of course”_ Inner Frank grumbled. You could always count on Kingston to exaggerate their histories, the stories a less-drunk-than-he-seemed Bob told in taverns along the rail-roads. Who knows what they'd been up to in the years he'd been hiding in his workshop, too afraid to fly any more.

'The New Cobra' was a tiny street-fronting building with gaudy lettering and badly drawn paintings of past productions plastered on the bricks outside. It seemed to lack a lot of the class Gabe's original theatre had carried in Vencia. Their sceptical expressions did not go unnoticed.

“Fabulous eh?” Gabe gushed, “Helvetica banned theatre and Vencia followed suit.” He stroked one of the paintings thoughtfully. “The Cobra never stood a chance, theatre simply isn't fashionable any more darlings. Except in Kingston obviously.” He knocked on the solid but chipped oak door, pushing his way in when a blinking face appeared in the crack. Frank looked uneasily at Ray, who shrugged and ducked into the doorway after Gabe.

Frank paused for a second in the street, glancing up and down the deserted houses before following.

“You're lying of course!” Gabe was saying to a red-faced boy who was hopping from foot to foot. “Just fetch Brian, there's a good lad!”

Mikey pulled Frank to him, breathless and wild-eyed. “He said they're gone!” He cried. He shook Frank by Pansy's straps almost knocking him off balance. “Gee's not here!”

“He must be!” Gabe said airily. He glared at the boy. “Isn't he Ryan?”

Ryan shook his head roughly, staring fiercely up at Gabe. “I told you that you shouldn't have locked him up!” He pointed an accusatory finger. “Now Brian's gone too!”

Frank wheeled with the force with which Mikey shot past him, launching himself at the resistance leader. “You locked him up!?” He shrieked, landing a punch with crack squarely on Gabe nose.

Three things happened at once.

Ray moved to pull Mikey off Gabe at the same time that Ryan launched himself at Mikey, narrowly missing and landing awkwardly on Gabe's prone form.

An explosion knocked them all sideways, stunning them all to silence. Before the screaming started.

[conclusion](http://archiveofourown.org/works/64966)


End file.
